Annihilation Squad, page 16
‘I get it now,’ says Brownie. ‘Nobody knows we’re here, so nobody’s going to miss us when we’re dead, is that it?’
‘That is one way of looking at it, yes,’ says the Colonel, resuming his walking. ‘The other is that there has been no chance of us developing any kind of pro-liberation sympathies. We have been free of exposure to the propaganda put out by von Strab.’
‘And what if we fail?’ says Lorii, casting a sideways glance at me. I’m not sure whether the look is one of accusation, or seeking support. I keep my expression blank.
‘I have already spoken of the potential disaster to the war effort if von Strab is indeed a traitor and allowed to continue,’ the Colonel says, looking away.
He seems uncomfortable with the questioning, but he’s not got much choice. This is the part of the mission when everything hangs in the balance for him. Up until now, we’ve had no choice but to follow his orders. They have been backed up by the full force of the Imperium, from the Commissariat provosts on the ship to the Imperial Guard we’ve been amongst since reaching Cerberus Station. Now there’s nothing except discipline and his own force of will to stop us simply walking away. We’re covert, so nobody knows we’re here, there’s nobody to back him up. He can’t threaten us any more, so now he has to get us to understand what it is we’re doing, and why we have no choice but to comply.
‘You know what I mean,’ says Lorii. ‘There is always a last resort, a fall back plan. What will happen if we can’t take out von Strab?’
The Colonel doesn’t answer straight away; instead he looks at each of us. He has our full attention.
‘Considering what is at stake, the Inquisition will use extreme measures to ensure that von Strab cannot turn the course of the war against us,’ he says, expression impassive. ‘If we fail, they will have no choice but to ensure the complete destruction of Acheron Hive.’
‘But surely that would be a blow just as deadly?’ says Fenn. ‘If only for morale, which is everything in this war at the moment.’
‘Then we must not fail,’ says the Colonel briskly, regaining his usual business-like self. He turns to me. ‘You will work with Armourer-scribe Spooge to draw supplies suitable for the remainder of the mission. I want every eventuality covered.’
‘Right, sir,’ I say. I look at the others and then sweep open my arms in a gesture that encapsulates the whole warehouse. ‘Let’s find out what we’ve got to play with.’
ELEVEN
ACROSS THE WASTES
We spend two days getting ready. The secret storehouse has pretty much anything we want: there are weapons and ammunition obviously, but also rations, canteens, blankets, packs, picks, shovels, knives, mugs, bowls, magnoculars, cold weather suits, mountaineering equipment, gas masks, rebreathers, eyeshades, portable cookers, lanterns, tents, poles, rope and a hundred other things besides.
The time not spent hunting down rogue boxes of ammunition or searching through piles of foil-wrapped bagging for ration bars we spend asleep or resting. We find blankets and bedrolls and make ourselves a cosy little camp in one corner of the warehouse amongst the shelves of crates. The Colonel seems pretty lax about keeping watch, but I continue to keep the practice going so that we stay sharp. I get the impression that he’s giving us the time to regain our strength and build up our energy reserves for the next push.
At first it looked as if there wouldn’t be any problems, but then we worked out just how much this stuff weighed. There was no way we would be able to carry it on foot. The problem is, the heavier your pack, the slower your progress. And the slower your progress, the more water and rations you need, which in turn weigh more and take up more space. We can’t rely on getting any kind of re-supply until we reach the hive, and given the uncertain terrain we’ll be crossing, as well as the possibility of bad weather, we could be hiking for anything up to three weeks to cover the hundreds of kilometres to Acheron.
We lay out each pack and its contents in the small antechamber, and it becomes obvious that some things are just too big to carry. In the end, with the help of Spooge and advice from Fenn – who knows a thing or two about extended missions – we narrow our needs down to essentials, and then we all have a little space to bring some of our own preferences.
Brownie, for example, insists that as well as the heavy stubber he’s dragged all the way from the jungles, and five hundred rounds for it, a light mortar would be extremely useful. Fenn, on the other hand, is all for carrying extra water to be on the safe side. Hidden in a dusty corner, amongst piles of tent poles and coils of rope, I found a few innocent-looking boxes not even listed on Erasmus’s inventory. Prying one open, I discovered that it was full of gold coins. I guess the Inquisition isn’t above greasing a few palms.
A few years ago, such a find would have seemed a golden opportunity to make something for myself, but not now. Where the hell am I going to be able to exchange coin? What am I going to spend it on? For a start, I’d have to desert from the Colonel, and that’s a lot harder than you might think. I got away from him once, legitimately, but he was waiting for me as soon as I screwed it up. However, you never know what fate might deal you, so I make a secret compartment inside the lining of my pack and stash twenty of the coins.
The others take a selection of spare side-arms, ammo, or extra rations, according to their own needs and desires. While the others are packing the Colonel goes over our planned route to Acheron with Fenn, Oahebs and me. I have to say it doesn’t look appealing.
To get down from the Diablo Mounts, we have to get past the lovely-titled Ork Mountain. It’s a huge volcano not far north of where we are, and it is teeming with feral orks. Down on the plains, we’ll be south of the ruins of Hades Hive. It’s too risky to join the Hades-Acheron highway, because it’s bound to be used by both Imperial forces and orks as the battle lines shift back and forth between the two hives. And the nature of our mission means we have to stay away from both sides.
We’ll be cutting across the wastes south of the highway, until we reach Averneas, a forge complex that sits across the road outside Acheron. From there, the Colonel tells us, there’s a disused pipeway that leads across the wastes to the Acheron underhive, allowing us to infiltrate von Strab’s domain from within. It’ll neatly bypass the Imperial forces around the hive, as well as the long-ranging patrols from the heavily fortified Hemlock cordon. The whole area is also littered with ork drop sites, so the greenskins are constantly sallying forth from landed rok fortresses across the ash wastes and along the rivers.
Generally I’m confident, though far from happy. It’s not the orks that are going to be the problem. Nobody’s going to find a small group like us in those vast stretches of wilderness unless they happen to roll straight into us, and we’re more than capable of dealing with the odd scouting force or roaming ork band.
No, the problem is the wilderness itself. The terrain is going to be hard going all the way, and there’ll be no respite until we reach Averneas. If we can get that far in good time, we’ll have broken the back of the trek and we can start preparing for Acheron itself. But I won’t dwell on what we can do once we reach the hive itself. It’s far better just to concentrate on getting us there.
Oahebs proves to be a brilliant navigator: he studies the sketchy maps constantly and questions the Colonel or Fenn about landmarks, route and the conditions we’re likely to encounter. Throughout the discussion I feel that same uneasy feeling I get when I’m around him. I can’t shake the notion that he seems to be keeping an eye on me for some reason. I still don’t know anything about him, or why Oriel saw fit to send him to Schaeffer. I’ll be watching him just as closely from now on. Anyone who’s had dealings with the Inquisition deserves scrutiny, because you can be sure they’ve got some hidden plan or agenda. You just have to wait it out, and hope they aren’t out to frag you too much.
Although we’ll be almost impossible to spot, particularly since nobody should be looking for us, the Colonel decides to travel by night and hole up during the day. Fenn warns us that it can get freezing cold in the wastes and that we should not skimp on cold weather clothing. Later we sit down with the rest of the squad, and I pass the message on.
‘It’ll be tricky,’ says Fenn, who is leaning against the wall, with an unopened ration pack in his hand. ‘It’ll be hot during the day and cold at night. We need to look for shaded campsites wherever possible. Storm season is just around the corner too.’
‘This just gets better and better,’ says Kin-Drugg, shaking his head. He nurses his wounded leg. ‘Perhaps I should have stayed at Infernus Quay, I’m not going to be making good progress on this.’
‘If you fall behind, you stay behind,’ the Colonel says, standing in the doorway of the bare room. ‘You carry your share, too.’
Crumpling his ration wrapper and angrily tossing it to the floor, Kin-Drugg hauls himself up and limps outside, muttering under his breath. We watch him go, exchanging glances. We know the Colonel’s right: we can’t afford to move at the speed of the slowest.
‘I have intercepted a communication from high command on one of the comms sets,’ says the Colonel, stepping forward. We look at him attentively. ‘The orks have launched a serious offensive against Helsreach, so a lot of our forces will be drawn south. There will be a lot of activity, but it means that everyone’s attention will be diverted from Hades and Acheron.’
‘Have you heard anything about the weather?’ asks Fenn, peeling open his rations and looking at it with a glimmer of distaste. ‘What’s the storm forecast like?’
‘I haven’t received any specific storm warnings,’ says the Colonel. ‘However, there is little comfort to be drawn from that. If we get caught in a storm, our priority must be to weather it. We have to make the best possible progress we can, because things will only get worse if we lag. We must reach Averneas before the season of storms begins in earnest.’
‘And what news from Acheron?’ I ask.
‘No further intelligence,’ replies the Colonel. ‘However, there are rumours that Thraka himself visited the hive not long ago, with fresh instructions for von Strab. But these are unconfirmed.’
‘Have we any idea what those instructions might be?’ says Lorii.
‘It is likely that the warlord is merely reinforcing his authority,’ replies the Colonel. He pulls a chronometer from his pocket and snaps the case open. ‘There has been no change in activity to indicate a new strategy. Sundown is in little over an hour. Kage, have everyone ready to move out in thirty minutes.’
‘Yes sir,’ I say, standing up, and dusting crumbs from my trousers. ‘Okay Last Chancers, eat up and gear up. Last one ready carries the heavy stubber.’
The squad assembles outside in a ragged line in the descending darkness with their bulging packs at their feet. The jagged silhouettes of ruined buildings jutting up above the warehouse merge into the night sky. I head back into the storehouse and find the Colonel in conversation with Spooge and Kelth.
‘But my orders were to take office here in Diabolus Forge,’ Erasmus is saying. His skin is reddened from exposure, but the flabbiness has disappeared with his recent exertions. ‘I cannot disobey the directives of my masters.’
‘Do you have a copy of your orders?’ says the Colonel, holding out a hand. Spooge delves into the recesses of his clothing, pulls out a tattered scroll and hands it to Schaeffer. The Colonel reads it briefly, and then hands it back to Spooge.
‘It says you are to report to your post here for duties,’ says Schaeffer. ‘And I am giving you your new duties.’
‘As much as I agree with you, Colonel, I’m afraid it’s impossible,’ says Spooge. ‘An Imperial Guard officer does not hold authority over an adept of the Departmento Munitorum.’
I pull my laspistol from my belt and stride forward, pointing it at Spooge.
‘I think you can safely say that you’ve done everything you can to fulfil your orders,’ I say, stopping with the pistol an arm’s length from his face.
‘You’re not offering me any choice, are you?’ he asks with gratitude on his face.
I shake my head and then pivot on the spot to aim at Kelth. The tall Navigator looks down his nose at me, and sneers.
‘This is ridiculous,’ he snorts. ‘There is no reason to subject me to this imposition. What possible use can I be? I’m not a soldier, I have made that quite obvious.’
‘Everyone is useful,’ says the Colonel, walking over and placing his hand on my arm, to make me lower my weapon. ‘Until now you have had no choice but to accompany me. I could force you to continue, but you are right, that would serve little purpose.’
‘So let me go,’ says Kelth, crossing his arms. ‘Let me walk away.’
‘For security reasons, I cannot do that either,’ says Schaeffer, walking over to Kelth, his hands clasped behind his back. He pauses for a moment, then looks deep into the Navigator’s grey eyes.
‘What we’re doing here is not a game,’ the Colonel says finally. ‘I do not dress up the importance of my missions, and this operation ranks amongst the highest I have ever led. Armageddon hangs in the balance, and the slightest nudge in either direction could turn the war.’
He walks away, head bowed, before turning again, an arm outstretched towards Kelth. The Navigator watches him with a wary expression, occasionally glancing at me with distaste.
‘Von Strab is hiding out in the Acheron underhive,’ the Colonel says. ‘The forces drawn into Acheron by his presence are far beyond any military threat posed by this so-called army of liberation. However, the moral threat he poses is greater than any other on the planet. We cannot allow Ghazghkull to have such a man under his sway, whether it be as a pawn or an ally.’
‘I am not trained for your war,’ says Kelth with a heavy shrug. ‘I am of the Navis Nobilite, and I have a higher calling than crawling around in the dirt dodging bullets. I was born to steer mighty ships through the ether, and to bring warships to battle. I am no use to you.’
‘I’ll say it again,’ says Schaeffer. ‘Everyone is useful. None of us can see how this will end. It may be that the Emperor has some part for you to play. You are here, now. All the starships in the fleet, and all the soldiers of the Imperial Guard, have battered themselves against this ork horde, grinding this war into a stalemate. Now we have a chance, a lone, slim chance, to be victorious. Can you honestly walk away from this? Would you ever forgive yourself for passing up an opportunity to do something real, something genuine in your life? Will the Emperor forgive you?’
Kelth is amazed by the passion in the Colonel’s voice. But his expression changes back to its usual one of superiority and suspicion. I don’t know why the Colonel’s so keen to have him with us, perhaps he really believes we have been brought together by the Emperor. It doesn’t matter. If the Colonel wants him, I’ll deliver him.
‘We’re called the Last Chancers,’ I say, and Kelth turns on me, eyes narrowed. ‘We’re all given a last chance because we have wronged the Emperor with our crimes. Perhaps you deserve a last chance to do something truly exceptional with your life. Even if you don’t do it for the Imperium and the Emperor, think of yourself and your family. Few people will know what we do here, but those in power, those whose words shape our futures, they will find out. Think what good it will do for the standing of your family to be associated with a great victory. Those Imperial commanders, those nobles, will owe you a debt of honour, so your future can be prosperous.’
I’m surprised by my own conviction, and a turn of phrase I didn’t think I was capable of. As a devious, calculating look enters Kelth’s eyes, I wonder what’s brought this sudden surge of loyalty in me. The Navigator interrupts my thoughts.
‘I would need some form of assurance,’ he says, stroking his chin. ‘A letter. Write me a letter detailing the events that have occurred here. Have it sealed and sent to High Command. I want it to be forwarded to our estates on Terra.’
The Colonel thinks for a moment and then nods.
‘Spooge, come with me and we will draft this letter,’ he says. The scribe heads off into the recesses of the storehouse. The Colonel gives Kelth a hard look before turning and following him.
The Navigator looks at me, a smug smile on his face.
‘The Colonel will be true to his word,’ he says.
‘Yes he will,’ I say, walking right up to him to stare him right in the eye. ‘And that means you’re one of us now. One of his. One of mine. You can start by grabbing your pack.’
I ignore his disconcerted look and I walk off chuckling to myself.
With new uniforms, boots and weapons, and carrying full belts and packs, we’re ready to set off at last light. In single file, we keep to the shadows. In the dark sky above us, the odd flicker of a jet soars overhead, while the evening air echoes with the distant thump of heavy artillery. The sky to the south is illuminated by the detonations.
Lorii leads the way, a little ahead of the rest of us, as we make our way over cratered ferrocrete roads, and march between broken piles of brocks and half-ruined walls. Banks of earth are piled up as crude, abandoned defences across some streets. A deep dip in the ground turns out to be the footprint of a passing Titan. Its weight pulverised the brick into dust and compacted the mud into a rock-hard surface.
Erasmus starts panting under the weight of his pack after just a few minutes. Kelth falls to the rear alongside Kin-Drugg. At least the drop trooper has the excuse of a busted leg, the other two are just out of shape. After a few days’ hard slog we’ll soon see if they can make it all the way or not. If they’re still with us in five days’ time, I reckon they’ll be good for the whole trek. If not, the scavenging rats of the ash wastes will strip every morsel of flesh from their bones.
